The Bounty-Hunter's Family
by chickenscrews
Summary: Cloud is a bounty-hunter earning what he can in crime-ridden Radiant Garden to provide for the "family" he never sees. Tifa is his "spouse" and a practically single guardian raising the teenage orphans they took in: Roxas, Xion, and Naminé. But none in this family of nonrelatives can stay safe from the rampant crime in their city as war dawns nearer… (Civilian/Cyberpunk AU)
1. Bind One, Bind All

The Bounty-Hunter's Family

Chapter One: Bind One, Bind All

[Scene 01]

The hoodlum's corpse fell with the night rain through the windshield of the family's car in the congested city street, shattering glass everywhere and panicking Tifa, Naminé, and Roxas inside. Though the woman driving gasped in fright and the teenage girl beside her screamed, Roxas was silent in his terror, only jumping back against his seat in the back. As he looked on at the bullet-riddled corpse lying on its spine atop the rain-soaked dashboard of the car, the dead man's glassy eyes gawked into Roxas' own and the boy feared if this was what it meant to stare into the face of death.

When the family's nerves slightly cooled, Roxas recognized the body as Demyx, the two-bit gang member who made a name for himself after gunning down three cops the week before.

Tifa said something, but Roxas couldn't hear. So long as his horrified eyes were locked with Death's, he remained detached from his senses. Tifa then entered Roxas' direct line of sight and severed the trance, her façade of maternal strength heavy with concern. She said something, but he couldn't hear her.

"Hey, are you alright?" the woman seemed to plea in that repeated call, worried for the kids' states. She had already placed a comforting hand on Naminé's bobbing shoulders as the cold rain showered the two in their seats. The poor girl had broken into tears and tried to hide from the cadaver by turning away from it, glass scattered atop hers and Tifa's laps. Roxas, however, remained detached from his senses and it was his absent silence that worried Tifa most of all. But with the connection now broken, sense returned to Roxas and he regained himself in a cold shock. He didn't say anything, but only nodded to the woman's call.

Tifa sighed, relieved the boy could hear him. Then she gave her full attention to the grief-stricken girl in the navigator's seat, trying to soothe her with a calming voice and touch. "Hey. Hey. It's gonna be alright. No one can hurt us now. We're safe."

The woman caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see a peace officer haul Demyx's body from the car's hood with one hand. The policeman stood fully armored in the drizzling rain, reflecting an awe- and terror-inspiring form as he held a machinegun in the air with one fist and gripped the dead man by the neck of his hoodie with the other. His badge read "Aeleus."

"Move along, ma'am," Aeleus' exposed mouth said from under the visor of his helmet not a foot away from the car. He motioned straight ahead with his gun and Tifa saw that traffic was slowly moving again. They drove on at the collective snails' pace, the rain now beating mercilessly against the two girls in the front. Naminé couldn't yet look up, but Roxas' focus lay fixed on the stern-faced officer who glared back at him as if to say, _"This is where you'll end up if you stray from the law: just another dead punk smeared under my boot."_

The message was received.

Tifa used the sleeve of her hoodie to carefully wipe the glass off Naminé's lap when traffic again stopped. "Hey, Roxas," Tifa said, "scoot over. Clear some room for Naminé."

Roxas did so without a word and his adoptive sister joined him in the back row, away from the rainfall Tifa still endured. Not long after, Roxas had to avert his eyes because of the effect the soaking rain had on Namine's dress. He found also she was shivering and could only wonder what perpetual misery Tifa suffered.

At length, Roxas removed his hoodie, confusing the blonde-haired girl beside him. "Naminé," he said, "take off your dress; put this on." She flustered a moment, then Roxas continued, "I won't look. Just put on something dry."

She was hesitant, but undressed and accepted the hoodie anyway and Roxas kept his gaze to the window beside him. Miserable though Tifa was against the heavy rain, her heart was touched at seeing the considerate gesture among the non-siblings. Who said they weren't a real family?

[Scene 02]

They called Xion on the phone so she could run a hot bath for Tifa that would be ready by the time they returned to their one-story suburban home. As Tifa thanked her raven-haired adoptive daughter and went for the bath, Roxas offered to heat some soup to prevent Naminé from catching a cold. Xion, meanwhile, went to work on carefully cleaning out the broken glass from the car.

As usual, Cloud wasn't home.

Roxas extinguished the burner and tasted the chicken-noodle soup before serving it to the girl at the table. He poured a bowl and then placed it before sniffling Naminé, who was now changed into her nightgown.

"There you go," he said. "That should warm you up."

She sniffled, her memory still of the bullet-riddled hoodlum who died mere inches from her, but she returned to the present and accepted the bowl graciously. "Thanks, Roxas." She since stopped crying, but the redness in her eyes was still there.

Roxas nodded. "Don't sweat it." Then he sat in the chair adjacent to hers, contemplating what to say. He waited a few spoonfuls before venturing, "How—how're you taking it? You know, the…" He was never good at comforting others, less so at _talking_ about these things.

"Horribly," Naminé replied, downcast eyes never leaving her soup. That was a more open response than Roxas expected. "A man died right in front of me. He spilled glass and blood all over my clothes and I never saw it coming. And you were there, Roxas. You know I'll probably have nightmares about this for the rest of my life."

Roxas hung his head. "Sorry. Stupid question."

"But what about _you?_" Roxas looked back up in surprise and Naminé continued, "Tifa sounded really worried about you, like you turned into a ghost or something. A person mourning openly is easy enough to understand, but you…you were so quiet, it's like you were scared to death. How do you comfort someone like that?"

Roxas didn't know how to answer, instead remembering the silent, soul-shattering terror he felt a half-hour ago. He tried to forget. "You don't. You just shake it off and move on."

Naminé made a slight grimace. Traumatized though she was, her mind was clear enough to know Roxas was only pretending to be strong, that he aimed that advice more at himself than at her and that he didn't really believe it. She sighed. "See? This is what I mean."

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

"This," she replied, gesturing at him with her spoon. "It's not healthy pretending like it doesn't affect you. I saw you in the car, Roxas, and that's not something you can just brush under the rug. Healing takes time."

He was surprised, indignant to hear Naminé lecture him when he was only trying to help. The worst part was he heard the loving sincerity in her tone and knew she only meant the best for him. "Well, some people get over it faster than others," he shot back, not meaning to raise his voice but doing it all the same. "Cloud does."

"You're not Cloud," Naminé replied, a subdued intensity in her tired eyes. "You're not some hardened bounty-hunter who sees death every waking moment. You're my little step-brother and I know when you're lying."

Roxas said nothing, speechless, then leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Don't lecture me," he said, his eyes shifting. "I'm only trying to help."

He was caught off-guard when Naminé slid a spoonful of soup into his mouth. She held him perfectly still with the spoon in her grasp until, flustered, he allowed himself to slurp the chicken-noodle. Naminé held a sad smile the whole time. "You _are_ helping me, Roxas," she said in her soft voice and then slowly retracted the spoon. "The way you gave me your jacket and didn't look when I changed, how you made me this soup and are trying to comfort me…and believe me, I'll need a shoulder to cry on here and there, but don't forget to take your own medicine," she giggled before adding, "ya dumb twerp."

[Scene 03]

Xion crouched on her haunches outside the car to pick up the larger pieces of glass in the vehicle parked in the garage. She wore a thick pair of gardening gloves to keep from cutting her hands open and slippers to protect her feet in case any shards fell. A small garbage bin was at her side to hold the glass. The vacuum reposed behind her, waiting to clean up the smaller fragments.

Xion could only imagine how terrifying it must've been for a criminal's dead body to fall right through the windshield and almost land on top of someone, especially Naminé. Though the eldest of the three teenagers, Naminé also seemed the most fragile. Then she tried to consider the trauma her adoptive family experienced and how shaken they must still be. Noting the drenched interior, she could only marvel at what Tifa had to sit through the whole drive home. _Good thing the seats aren't made of leather_—she thought to herself.

She searched further for large pieces at the floor of the navigator's seat, where Naminé sat, and found a small, rectangular case—an ocean-blue flash drive, by the look of it—laying on the carpet amid the broken fractals. _Hello, what's this?_

She picked it up, swept off the glass particles, and took a closer look at it. The thought crossed her mind: _This isn't Naminé's. I'd know hers anywhere. …Did this belong to the guy who fell through the windshield? Did it fall out of his jacket or something?_

She marveled at it a short while longer, then heard Roxas in the doorway behind her.

"How's it goin'?" he asked.

She jumped slightly, then regained herself and called back to him, "I could use a hand here. Lots'a glass everywhere and I don't wanna be here all night."

Roxas nodded, "Right," and then searched for a second pair of gloves and a garbage bin to clean the driver's side of the car. His stomach wrenched at being so near the scene of the crime again. The sensation dazed him, but he fought to repress it.

Xion slipped the flash drive inside her pocket while Roxas searched for his materials. She'd bring it up later.

"Was it anyone we know?" Xion asked bluntly, motioning to where the body fell.

Her forwardness was shocking, but Roxas answered soon enough. "I think it was that guy Demyx. The one who shot those three cops last week."

Xion's face lit up. "Whoa! You got front-row seats to a famous cop-killer getting taken down?! That's awesome!"

He really didn't know how to answer her. "I…guess that's one way of looking at it."

Xion sucked through her teeth out of a sudden guilt. "Ooh…it was probably much scarier in-person, right?"

"Yeah," Roxas monotoned.

"Sorry," Xion smiled apologetically. "Naminé doing better? She was kinda crying when you came in."

"We talked. It might take a while, but she's a _lot _stronger than I gave her credit for."

Xion smirked. "Big sis is cool like that." Her smile faded. "Tifa'll probably catch a cold, though."

Roxas finally joined her at the other side of the car and picked up the glass there.

"No word from Cloud yet?" Roxas asked.

Xion sighed. "No. I don't think he's even been home the last few nights. And he hasn't texted or anything. I'd be worried if I didn't know any better."

Roxas reflected on her words. "He's really strong, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Xion said, a clear admiration in her voice. "He's doing a much better job cleaning the streets than the cops are. He's one of the best bounty-hunters out there—no way anyone can hurt 'im. I just wish we'd get to see him more."

[Scene 04]

Cloud staggered from the back exit of a warehouse building and stepped onto the mud under heavy rainfall, bleeding and panting profusely with the blade of a ballistic knife lodged through his long brown coat and into his right shoulder. A gloved hand balancing him against the doorway and the other holding his blaster-pistol, he looked ahead in the darkness and saw his target—a scarred, one-eyed mobster named Braig—trying to crawl out from the large puddle he collapsed into after taking a laser blast to his ribs. Cloud's gun still smoked from the shot.

Taking a moment to jerk the knife blade out from his shoulder with a grunt, the injured bounty hunter trudged the distance to finish off his prey.

Braig's hands splashed through the water until he found what he lost. A smile of desperate relief marked his face and he turned over on his back in the deep puddle to take a shot with the reclaimed Uzi. But the gun shattered in a blast of plasma before the mobster could so much as aim—Cloud was close enough to have made that shot. Despair reclaimed Braig as Cloud—his executioner—stood ominously silent some few feet away.

"You—you just couldn't let little Demyx be, could ya?" Braig pled, a nervous grin overtaking him. "No, you just _had_ to come after one of my own, mess up my operation, and look where we are now. You got me and a lot of my guys, but what about your partner, huh? And what about those people inside? I'll bet they're dead too—the rest of my men finished them off." He gestured to the expansive warehouse behind them, some of his confidence returning, despite the scorching pain in his side. "It's awful quiet in there."

Cloud's eyes were ice-cold, his stony features unwavering and unreadable.

"What'd your partner call you?" the mobster asked. "Was it 'Cloud?' Yeah, that was it. Now, let me tell you somethin' Cloud; you screwed with my family. Demyx, that nephew o'mine, he's a schumck, an idiot—but I could'a had 'im outta the country yesterday if you hadn't stepped in. Just like that, problem solved. The cop-killer would be gone and everybody wins. And if he survives tonight, he's gonna live through hell all because you greedy bounty-hunters can't say no to whatever chump change the cops wave in front a'ya."

Cloud's steely eyes narrowed. Braig caught that and grew bold.

"So lemme put it to you this way," he wheezed from the blaster-shot he took in his side, "forget bounty-huntin'. You sign on with me and you'll be set for life. What was the reward for Demyx? A thousand? Two-thousand? I'll pay you ten-thousand to keep 'im safe. Your regular salary'll be _triple_ that."

Cloud leveled his gun, minding his wounded shoulder. His cold eyes never flinched or showed any sign of consideration in the downpour that drenched them.

Braig grimaced. "What, you gonna kill me? News flash, hunter: _there's no price on my head!_ There ain't even an arrest warrant anymore! You pull that trigger…and you're just a cold-blooded murderer in the law's eyes." He flinched again from his scorched ribs, grateful they were cauterized enough not to bleed everywhere in the deep puddle he was partially submerged in. "So, face it, _Cloud_. You can't touch me. But work for me and I'll—"

Cloud slammed his boot against Braig's collarbone and effortlessly held him underwater as the mobster flailed his limbs and tried to force him off to the best of his injured ability, but the hunter kept the pressure on and the oxygen bubbles only persisted in their rapid escape from the suffocating villain. Cloud never flinched or showed any sign of his conscience dissuading him. Braig flailed, he clutched for his executioner's leg, but his efforts weakened.

A young woman with rose-colored hair and pale aqua eyes—Lightning Farron, Cloud's partner—emerged from the same back door of the warehouse whence her cohort and the mobster fled, and she paused in momentary shock at watching the blonde man drown the gangster in cold blood, but when she continued her approach, she made no effort to stop him. When she reached the pair, Braig was drowned and Cloud lifted his boot from the corpse.

"No matter how many times we have this discussion," Lightning began, her voice weary, "I still wonder if it was worth it. Risking our lives to take down criminals without a price on their heads…"

"We'd be dead otherwise," Cloud returned, only looking at her sidelong as Braig's body floated in the murky puddle. "Soon as he learned we were the ones after Demyx, he's been looking into who we are. We'd be dead by tomorrow if we let 'im live."

"Meanwhile, someone else gets the reward on Demyx," Lightning replied. "I'm not saying it wasn't smart taking out Braig when we still had the chance, but why even bother with Demyx in the first place? This could've been avoided."

Cloud finally turned to face her. "'Cause I don't want this filth living in the same city as my family."

Lightning grunted, unsatisfied with the answer. "Protecting your family. Yeah, I get that. But those workers in the middle of our firefight had families too, and so did every other civ we endangered on the way here. I don't know how many of them lived or died, but I'll bet we've hurt more families than we saved."

Cloud was silent in the rain, his expression cold with just the smallest hints of contemplation. "Maybe you're right," he said at last. "But I still don't care."

She was only slightly incredulous, having spent enough time with this partner to expect these aloof sentiments from him. Then she sighed and patted his uninjured shoulder, "C'mon. Let's get you patched up."

No other words were exchanged between the two bounty-hunters. They walked under heavy rain for the horizon, where the garish lights of civilization blared from an endless expanse of cloud-piercing skyscrapers and hover-vehicles of the elite swarmed the neon-lit sky.


	2. The Divide

Chapter Two: The Divide

[Scene 01]

The touch-screen of the kiosk told them all they needed to know. Demyx was already dead.

Lightning cursed under her breath. Cloud stood just behind her under the steel canopy, staring out into the rushing street life of rain-swept Radiant Garden and uncaring for what the monitor reported. His shoulder had been heavily bandaged in the small clinic they'd visited on the way here, but he showed no visible sign of pain or discomfort in his movements. With the leather jacket concealing the medical dressing, one would never guess the severity of his wound.

His rose-haired partner sighed. "Can't imagine you're disappointed, but the cops already bagged Demyx. With him and Braig gone, it looks like their dying crime family's finally out of legitimate heirs."

"Someone else will take over." For as bleak as his prediction was, Cloud hadn't professed it with any tenor of defeatism or despair. His prophesy was as banal as noting it would rain again tomorrow.

Lightning signed out of the kiosk and turned to her partner, "More likely, the family will fall apart and all the top-dogs and yes-men will vie for the empty throne. They'll kill each other before the week's over."

But Cloud wasn't convinced. He still didn't face her. Either he'd spaced-out or his mind was racing with a myriad of varying scenarios and outcomes for any number of relevant subjects in his life. He had seemed distracted lately. But he mustered enough will to counter Lightning's prediction with one final avowal. "Someone will _always_ rise to power."

Neither felt like pushing the issue any further.

The rose-haired hunter joined her equal near the curb. "You heading home tonight?"

"No," he answered.

She gave him a half-judgmental look. "Can't see the point of having a family if you're never with them."

His face hardened, clearly displeased with the direction their chat had taken. "It's better like this. One less mouth to feed."

She didn't believe him. But she also knew it was none of her business. "Speaking of feeding mouths, you hungry? The diner should still be open."

He closed his eyes to think about it, taking in the tumultuous sounds of their city's street life. In moments, he reopened them and answered, "Maybe a small bite."

[Scene 02]

Neither had ever seen the other eat more than a side-dish in all the years they'd known each other. Even in middle school, Cloud and Lightning seemed to skip lunch in favor of skulking and being too cool for their peers. And whenever they played hooky in high school, food consumption was a low priority compared to fulfilling their extensive lists of felonies and misdemeanors. Neither knew why they or the other followed this unhealthy diet, but it was never openly questioned. Even as they reached for the garlic fries from their shared tray on a booth in the small diner, they suppressed their curiosity and ate with silent respect for the other's decisions.

The silence was broken when Cloud noted his friend's pensive countenance.

"Something on your mind?"

It was rare for him to start a conversation, let alone make personal inquiries, but Lightning kept her eyes on the tray as she replied. "I've just been wondering a lot lately. Why did you start a family with Tifa?"

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "Why _her_?"

"Why start a family _at all_? You're not exactly good with kids…or women…or the living."

Cloud sighed and rested his head against a hand propped by an elbow against the table. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. The war left a lot of kids orphaned and Tifa and I both wanted to help."

She looked up to face him. "Tifa wanting a simple life of domesticity I get, but you? We were soldiers. We couldn't stand staying in one place all the time with nothing to do."

He met her gaze, head still lazing in his hand, "You remember what Zack said the day before he went MIA?"

There was that term again. _MIA_, as if Cloud still denied that nobody could've survived the bombing of Nibelheim. _No body doesn't mean no casualty—just that the bombs left nothing to find. _She brushed the thought aside and recited, " 'If I'm going to grab a gun and throw my life away…' "

" '…I want to make sure something good comes of it,' " Cloud finished. He ate another garlic fry.

Lightning droned, "And, from that, you decided to move in with 'just a friend,' grab three urchins from off the street, and bust your ass pretending to be a normal family while staying as far away from them as possible."

"In so many words. Why's this suddenly concern you?"

She wished she'd ordered a good drink to quell the tightening knot in her stomach. Or, at the very least, to stall answering. She sharply inhaled and ran a weary hand over her face to help put her thoughts and anxieties into words. "I got someone killed tonight. A civilian."

She had Cloud's full attention. He tried to reason, "Light, a lot of innocent people died in that warehouse and that was all Braig's fault. He and his goons opened fire fully aware of—"

"It's not that simple. I…there was a point where I had to take cover in the manager's office. Only, there was another woman in there too. She had to be in her late twenties, early thirties—I dunno. Just some regular worker who got caught up in a foxhole with the wrong person. Braig's guys were raining bullets pretty hard on us and the worker noticed I had a spare on my belt. She asked if she could use it to fight back, and me being desperate and stupid, I let her. Didn't even tell her how it worked, but she grabbed it and did what she could. Didn't take long for her to die."

"You gave her a fighting chance."

"I put her in a fight she shouldn't have been in."

"Braig's guys—"

"She could've stayed down!" Her voice rose. She tempered it. "Point is, I made a bad call and an innocent civ died for it. I checked her wallet when the fight was over to see who she was…she had a son, Cloud. I looked her up on the kiosk. She doesn't have a husband or any other family to watch the kid now that she's gone."

_You orphaned her son_, Cloud thought nonjudgmentally, but refrained from voicing this. Instead, he hazarded, "Are you gonna do something about it?"

She scoffed in bleak amusement. "I always told myself I'd never end up like you. Never wanted to start a family or be responsible for anyone else. But now that this kid's all alone…"

"Would he even accept you, the woman who killed his mother?"

"He doesn't have to know. And technically, I only put her in a position to die easy."

"I wouldn't tell 'im that either."

"Wasn't planning on it. Far as he'll know, I'm just honoring a dead woman's final request."

Cloud didn't reach for the next garlic fry. He only stared at her, more intensely than before. "You're serious about this. Lightning," her full first name—that meant he was being serious, "taking care of another life is far from easy. I can't begin to tell you how miserable of a burden it is—how desperately you'll want to just run away from everything and—"

"And knock-up my coworker every other night to relieve the stress and grow to hate myself for what a colossal coward I am." She half-spoke of him, and he caught it. She continued, "Trust me, Strife, I'm already there. Still got my 'sleeping beauty' of a sister I'm payin' those hospital bills for. And I'm not saying I'm gonna _raise_ the kid. Just put him in a cheap apartment with enough utilities to get by, enroll him in some public school, and leave enough money every week for food and clothing."

Cloud pinched his nose and groaned. "That's not enough." This wasn't even considering the official adoption channels to go through.

"Fine, I'll leave some money for condoms too. If he wants more, he can get a job. I'm already giving him more care and supervision than my parents gave me."

"You want him to end up like us?" he asked rhetorically. "Kids need more than that. That's why Tifa—"

"I'm not Tifa." There was a rising hint of anger in her tone as she'd said it. With that, she folded her arms and leaned back in her seat, avoiding eye-contact with her coworker and staring out the window into the drizzling night. Cloud almost regretted his words, but knew he was right. If Lightning couldn't deal, that was her problem. Instead of talking to her, he reached for the last fry on the tray. When he'd finished it, Lightning spoke again. "Did you really only partner with Tifa so she would raise the kids?"

He was numb enough to the truth to answer freely. "Yeah. Don't see why it matters."

She still didn't face him. "It's just…most husbands go to their _wives_ when they want sex after work. They only cheat with their coworkers when things get too boring or predictable." Cloud nearly retorted, but Light spoke for him, "I know. I know. You and Tifa aren't married or in love. Sometimes I wonder if you even like each other. But maybe if you went home more, brought her some flowers, showed her you cared…maybe you'd get to bang _her_, too. I'm sure plenty of other guys would kill for the chance."

It took Cloud a few moments to gather a worthy response. "Tifa deserves more than that. She deserves real love…to be with someone who actually cares about her and wants to make her life better. Not someone who dumps three kids on her door and then only uses her for sex."

Lightning finally glanced back at him. "Does she know that? Does she know you'll never be there for her, that she's free to pursue other men if she wants and not count on you to make her happy?"

Cloud had no answer. He and Tifa never had that talk. They'd always been vague when deciding the exact nature of their domestic roles. They weren't married. They weren't in love. They just lived together and raised three kids under the same roof. Or, that was the plan. It seemed so much easier in concept than in practice. Things might've been easier if he and Tifa weren't so repressed in their thoughts and feelings. To any other "couple," this lifestyle might've worked…

_But we've got too many problems. This can't last forever._

[Scene 03]

She stayed in the tub until the water grew cold. Even reclining in the comfort of the bath's warm embrace, Tifa knew she'd caught something from the storm and that it wouldn't be cured from a simple bath. She thought of the incident: of the body crashing through the windshield, of Naminé's screaming and Roxas' petrification… _And Cloud's not here to help them through this._

She sighed. Neither she nor the kids had seen him in days. Strictly speaking, they didn't need him to feel like a family…but it helped. Tifa knew she'd done a fine job raising these three on her own, but there were times—nights like this—where a second parental figure would've made things so much easier. Or so she imagined.

When the water temperature became unbearable, she finally drained the tub, dried herself off, and put on a thick robe for warmth. _Not looking forward to that fever coming in the morning…_

Naminé was washing the dishes when Tifa found her still in the kitchen, her bowl of soup now emptied, washed, and put on the drying rack. Typical of her generous heart, Naminé had taken to cleaning the rest of the dishes as well. Tifa afforded a light smile at this.

"Hey, sweetie," the older woman called, fatigue clear in her voice.

The younger blonde halted moving the sponge in her hand mid-rotation against the soap-covered plate and turned over her shoulder to find her guardian some feet behind. "Hey, Tifa," she replied. "How're you feeling?"

She groaned lightly. "Awful."

Sympathy was prevalent in the teenager's sad smile. "Yeah, I'd imagine. If you'd like, I'll stay home from school tomorrow to take care of you."

_But then who'd drive Roxas and Xion? …In a car with no windshield…_

Tifa sniffled. "About that…"

Xion entered the kitchen then. "Need another bag for the glass—oh, hey, Tifa."

"Hey, Xion," she answered back. Hands in the robe's pockets, she motioned with her head and shoulder to the garage, "Roxas still in there?"

The ravenette nodded, "Mhm."

"Yo, Roxas!" Tifa called.

She heard him answer, "Yeah?" followed by a shuffling of bags until he was finally visible in the garage doorway and joined Xion at the far end of the kitchen.

"Here's the deal, guys," Tifa addressed them. "You're all up way past your bedtimes, the car's busted, and I'm too sick to drive it anyways. You're all staying home tomorrow."

Silence in the kitchen—looks of weariness, astonishment, and gratitude on each of the kids' faces—and then wide-eyed Xion said to Roxas, "This is _much_ better than making a new windshield out of packing tape."

Tifa sniffled again. "You're welcome," and then she walked away, her voice groggy, "I'm going to sleep."

[Scene 04]

Naminé wasn't ready for bed. It had been an hour since Tifa retired for the night, yet for as late as it was, the blonde girl simply wasn't tired. She was anything but. The implosion of glass heralding the corpse's descent to the dashboard as rain and fractals of windshield splayed against her was a nightmare on repeat that Naminé was unable to shake from her damaged mind. Now standing just outside the cracked-open door to the room she shared with Roxas and Xion, it would be so easy to walk right in and seek her step-siblings for emotional support—and they would try to give it to her.

Yet, there was something holding her back. Though presently unexplainable, Naminé knew far too well that the Demyx incident had formed a rift between her and her family. She couldn't face them. She couldn't go into her room and open up to her younger brother and sister. She couldn't do it because… _Something died in me tonight. I watched someone die for the first time and…_

She looked through the crack in the doorway and found Roxas and Xion discussing something on the bottom mattress of their bunkbed, one of Xion's comic books left open beside them as she tried to brighten her step-brother's mood with their usual playful style of conversation. Watching them live and breathe was torture.

_They're both so fragile. Do they understand how easily a life can be taken away? Don't they know they can die at any random moment and leave a gaping void in the hearts of everyone they ever loved?_

She bit her lip and looked away, fighting back a fresh set of welling tears threatening to penetrate the lenses of her retina. _What's the point of being attached to someone if they'll only cause you misery in the long-run?_

She hated what she'd learned. She wished she could forget the tragic epiphany and clenched a fist in a subconscious attempt to crush her growing disillusionment. But it was futile. Sniffling once more, Naminé walked away from her room and returned to the kitchen, where an expansive paned window rested just beside the dining table, giving the girl a clear view of the dreadful rain streaking through the abysmal blackness of night. Only a dim streetlight across the road provided a semblance of clarity in the obsidian murk. As usual, nothing of interest passed through it.

Naminé opened the refrigerator and peered inside, her deadpan eyes set on Tifa's beer: three cans remaining inside the plastic rings which once held twice that number. At eighteen years old, she'd never touched alcohol of any kind, let alone considered it, but given everything her distraught heart and mind had been forced to process in the last two hours, what better companion for the dissolution of childhood innocence was there than the faithful, cleansing imbruement of alcohol? Unlike her friends and family, it would never abandon her. Beer couldn't be killed, stupid as that sounded. But stupidity was only natural with beer.

She reached a hand in, languidly wrapping her fingers around the nearest canister until its cold form brushed against her palm. She debated with herself once more if she was ready to commit and free the tin from its plastic ring, knowing Tifa would notice if she did.

With a defeated exhale, she left the fridge empty-handed. She wasn't ready for _that_ lecture. No, she just didn't want to see that pained look in Tifa's eyes, the disappointment and silent anguish at reflecting if she'd made a wrong step somewhere when raising these three kids. Naminé didn't want the guilt.

She closed the door, more tormented than when she first opened it, and looked impassively out the large window behind the table. Her eyes widened at seeing the form reposed by the streetlight on the other side of the road.

_Cloud…_

[Scene 05]

The rain beat hard against the blonde mercenary's hood. Every instant was a torrent racking his frame, a deluge washing over his hood and the exposed tips of his hair, a relentless cleansing for his time-stained motorcycle. He sat motionless on his parked bike, his drizzled coat and ride illuminated by the streetlight, and traces of his stone-cold façade revealed by the glow of his electronic cigarette.

Artificial bitterness coating the back of his throat and heaven's downpour violently endeavoring to cleanse the bounty-hunter's rusting heart—to convince him it was more desirable to face his family in the warmth of the place he never called home than to suffer nature's wrath—Cloud weighed every chastisement from his partner against his own aversion to humanity.

Tifa needed to know this wasn't working. She deserved to be free, to be with someone who actually loved her.

For every criminal he'd gunned-down, every scumbag he'd eviscerated, every crime-lord he'd drowned, nothing wrenched the murderer's gut more than the thought of facing the "wife" he'd all but abandoned.

No, "abandoned" wasn't the right word. He still sent her enough money to get by. The rest went into gas and weapon maintenance. Food too, if he was lucky. Distant though he was, he still supported this family he barely knew, and he'd keep at it until Tifa "remarried" or the kids moved out. Whichever came first.

He knew Naminé saw him. He stared right back. What began as shock on her young face slowly crept into steely resentment, hatred for a father-figure that was never there. Cloud soured under her gaze. _How nostalgic._

Thoughts of his own non-childhood returned, and he reached for the handles of his bike, ready to cross the tarmac abyss and set things right.

_They deserve a real goodbye._

He'd long-since resolved to do just that. It was only the sudden ringing of his headset and the popup holo-screen over his right eye that stalled him. The caller-ID was unexpected. _Vincent…_

He wanted more than anything to face his family, to give them the justice he wished his own father had given him, but a call from the vampire himself… It had to be something important.

Sighing, Cloud reluctantly tapped the earpiece and spoke to the air, "What is it, Vincent?"

A crisp, cold voice droned, "You wanna make fifty-million Gil?"

Cloud's eyes snapped open at the query. Even taking the recent inflation into account, that would be enough to take care of his family for a long time. Enough to put the kids through college and to pay off the house in Tifa's name. And he'd still have enough left over to set himself up for a few years after.

He answered, subdued anticipation obvious in his otherwise steady voice, "Tell me the job and I'm there."

The vampire replied, "Someone just posted some _very_ generous bounties on the leaders of Braig's crime-family, and they're all conveniently meeting right now. I made sure to credit you and Lightning for bagging 'Scarface' himself, so you two already have the biggest cut. But there's still a _lot_ more to be made, so you'd better hurry before the other rats beat you to it."

"I'll take it. Send me the coordinates."

"Done. You'll meet Lightning on the way."

The vampire hung up. The holo-screen fizzled into nothingness and Cloud was returned to the home he didn't live in.

The bounty-hunter sighed. He didn't have time for them anymore. Not with all the other hunters converging on the greatest prize in the city's history. He turned the handle, the engine roared back to life, and he afforded one last glance at abandoned Naminé in the window.

Then he was gone.

[Scene 06]

Of course he was gone.

Naminé knew better than to hope for his return. If Tifa, Roxas, or Xion were in her place, they might've felt some heartbreak at the abandonment.

Almost on cue, Roxas and Xion scampered into the kitchen moments later, no doubt having heard the roaring engine as it passed.

"Was that Cloud?" Xion queried, a visible apprehension on her and Roxas' faces.

And now Naminé held the power of mercy and heartbreak over them, a station for which she resented Cloud for burdening her with. _Better they learn to let go than live in false hope._

"No," she answered. "Just some biker."


End file.
